


three gifts

by yawnralphio



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Facial Shaving, Hand-me-down, M/M, Surprise Gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yawnralphio/pseuds/yawnralphio
Summary: An early gift sets Christmas in motion for Buck.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz(9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97





	three gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [Jules](https://weresilver-in-space.tumblr.com/) for listening to me ramble, [Sam](https://your-sparklywinnercollection.tumblr.com/) for all of his cheerleading, and [Alicia](https://gracieli.tumblr.com/) for final edits.

The sound of his phone vibrating dragged Buck from the depths of a dreamless sleep. It stopped the second he found the will to throw the blankets off his head, but it was already too late to drift off again. He was awake and blinking, his eyes taking their sweet time adjusting to the late morning sunlight filling the loft.

He didn't have a clue what time it was. The previous day he'd seen some of the worst calls of his career - not the ugly kind that made his heart hurt, but the nasty kind that made him want to bathe in a vat of bleach. He arrived home in the very early morning hours and promptly canceled all of his alarms before crawling into the nest of unkempt blankets on his bed.

As he lay there contemplating his life choices and the universe at large, his phone started vibrating on his nightstand once more. Only two people ever called him back to back like that, and Bobby was kind enough not to contact him so soon after a double shift. That left only one person, and if he didn't answer it, she'd just keep calling until he did. He grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen without looking.

"Hey, Mads," he greeted, his scratchy voice giving him away. He cradled the phone to his ear and rolled back into place against the pillows, surrendering to the full body stretch that made his muscles tremble.

"Are you still in bed?" Maddie teased. Buck had to do the math to figure out what day it was and whether she was working or not. He figured it was the latter due to the muffled cacophony in the background.

"I can hang up." It was far too early in his day to put up with her razzing. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gave himself permission to be testy about being woken up.

"Oh, don't be like that," she said. He could practically hear her rolling her eyes at him. Chimney's voice joined the racket coming from their house. It stole her attention long enough for Buck to close his eyes and surrender to the pull of fatigue.

"Is there a reason you're calling? Other than to fulfill your life goal of driving me insane."

"Funny," she said, sounding less than impressed. "It isn't my life goal, but I can make it one if you really want."

"Maddie," Buck warned, ignoring a pang of guilt for growing terse.

"Check your doorstep, little brother. I got you something."

Buck's eyes snapped open at that, the guilt settling into his chest like a weight. "What, like a Christmas present? Isn't it a little early for that?" he shoved his blankets aside and rose from the bed, giving up any hope of going back to sleep when they hung up. In his haste to fall into bed the night before he'd left a trail of clothing up the stairs and towards his bed, but he ignored all of them in favor of a pair of sweats.

"Kind of," Maddie said slowly, hedging her way around the truth. He didn't have to wait long for her to come clean. "Okay, I don't actually know what's in it, but it had your name on it. Besides, we're well into the first week of December. I can give you presents whenever I want."

Buck pulled up short at the top of the stairs, reluctantly impressed by how quickly she spun it back on him. He struggled to parse the real meaning behind her words. "You got me a gift, but you don't know what it is?"

"No, I mean it literally had your name on it."

Rather than ask any more questions, he hurried to the front door and threw open the deadbolt. When he opened the door, there was indeed a small cardboard box sitting on the front step. He secretly thanked her for the heads up; even with the advanced warning, the sight of a strange box addressed to him made his leg throb.

Pinning his phone between his ear and his shoulder, he bent over to pick it up. The first thing he noticed was the familiar scrawl under the packing tape; it did in fact have his name on it.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, closing the door behind him. The box wasn't heavy, but if he tipped it a little he could hear things moving about inside.

"You remember that estate sale they had when Pops died?"

"Yeah," Buck said, setting his prize down on the kitchen table. "They sold everything and donated the rest."

"Right. Well, apparently he had a storage locker no one knew about. He had some things set aside, including a box for you."

Buck stared down at the box with a mixture of surprise and heartache. There were very few pleasant memories from his childhood, but almost all of them could be traced back to the time he spent with their grandfather. The box had his full name, not the nickname he'd acquired after his death.

"This came from Pops?" Buck asked, brushing his fingertips over the faded sharpie. A wave of grief swept over him, so sharp and sudden that it took him by surprise. Nearly a third his life had gone by since the old man's passing, and he still felt the loss just as deeply.

Maddie was silent on the other end of the line, but at last she spoke, her voice soft and choked. "You were always his favorite, you know."

"Thanks, Mads," he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

"You're welcome, Buck." She hung up after a brief goodbye, leaving Buck alone with the nothing to distract him from the box.

If he really thought about it, there were dozens of things he would have liked to keep. He could almost picture the house, if he tried hard enough.

By the time he retired, Ernest Sanford had a house full of knick-knacks. It wasn't quite cluttered, because there was an organization to the chaos, but it was packed to the gills with memorabilia. Models of wooden ships, completely to-scale with functioning sails, gathered dust atop most of the bookshelves in his study. Photos of his life and family lined the walls in just about every room. A shadowbox sat on display in the living room, boasting of his time in the Navy. His only service photo was nestled in the center of the velvet backing and framed by ribbons denoting his rank and awards.

There were journals full of hand written recipes he would have fought for, an old rustbucket he'd been rebuilding for years in the garage, and an out-of-tune piano he insisted on playing whenever unwanted visitors approached trying to sell him things he didn't need.

He was pricklier than a cactus in bloom, and he made sure anyone who dared intrude upon his retirement knew it, save for Buck.

The thought of Pops going through his house and hand-picking things he wanted Buck to have was almost too much to bear. He sat at his kitchen table for several long minutes, staring at the box like it might somehow sprout arms and open itself. He was tempted to leave the box for another day and go back to sleep.

In the end he went to retrieve his multitool from his work pants, and sliced through the packing tape with a flick of his wrist. Band-aids were best ripped off, after all; even the kind that filled his chest with a bitter-sweet ache.

The first gift he received upon pulling back the first flap was a long familiar scent. Time had whittled it down to its base elements: a hint of tobacco, and the minty scent from the birch trees that grew around Ernie's property. If he shoved his face all the way in and took a deep breath, it was almost enough.

There were a handful of individually wrapped packages in the box, all done in newspaper that had yellowed. How many years had passed since this box was packed?

Buck pulled each of them out one at a time, arranging them across his table. Excitement and apprehension turned his stomach in equal measures at the thought of unwrapping them. At the bottom of the box was a small, worn leather case. He'd seen it hundreds of times, played with it as a child, and used what it held on more than one important occasion - his first date, his senior prom, and graduation to name a few.

His vision started to go blurry as the memories came flooding back. Of everything he'd hoped to find contained in such a small box, this wasn't one of them. Yet the relief of having it in his hands was nearly enough to bowl him over.

The kit was the very one his grandfather had used almost daily. Citrus permeated the air around him as soon as he peeled back the corroded zipper. Buck reached into it and pulled out the razor first. It had a carved wooden handle with Ernie's initials burned into it. He tested his grip on the blade, at once dismayed and amazed that after all these years, it finally fit the palm of his hand. The blade was still in pristine condition when he opened it, not that he expected anything less.

He closed the razor and put it back, taking out the bowl and scuttle instead - a stout, thick handled brush used to turn shave soap into lather. The bowl fit his hand now too.

Buck smoothed his hand over the stubble on his cheek, picturing the tiny bathroom with yellowed walls where he'd first learned how to use the items in the bag. He cast one last glance at the packages on the table and decided they could wait, heading toward the bathroom instead.

After a hasty shower, he unpacked the contents of the kit onto the counter and thought about the first time he'd sat and watched Pops shave. He echoed the old man's ritual now, picking up the cup and wetting the coarse bristles.

The bowl then had been unwieldy in his nine year old fingers and nearly impossible to use. It took him a good fifteen minutes to get any kind of suds going on the puck.

He was well out of practice now, but the memory of his grandfather's hands covering his was enough. Soon the cup had plenty of froth sitting on top, which he started spreading across his face in smooth, even strokes.

The old man's words echoed in his mind as he worked.  _ The right razor is important, kid, but the key to the perfect shave is to build the perfect lather. Like painting a house, see? Can't have it too thick or too thin, and you need even coverage.  _ He'd lathered up Buck's then, even though he was barely old enough to grow peach fuzz.

Once his face was thoroughly primed, he set the brush down and took up the razor instead. He set it against his cheek, pulled his skin taut, and paused. Then  _ one, two, three _ short strokes that went through his stubble like a hot knife through butter.

He rinsed the blade and lost himself to the routine, caught somewhere between the memory of his grandfather's bathroom and the one he was in now.

When he was finished, he put a few drops of blade oil on just as he was taught, and tossed his old disposable in the trash.

∞

Less than a week later, Buck acquired a decorative stand to hold his new-to-him tools. He kept the leather case to use for travel, but otherwise wanted everything else on display. The first person to ask him about it, much to his surprise, was Christopher.

"What's that?" he called out, his voice muffled by the bathroom door. A few seconds later the door opened, and Chris peered out with a curious expression.

"What's what?" Buck prompted, abandoning Christopher's empty plate on the table in favor of taking a closer look. Chris pulled the door wider on his approach and pointed toward the counter. "Oh, that. It's my razor."

"I've never seen one like that before."

"Yeah, this one's kind of… special. It was my grandfather's." Buck reached over and took it from the stand, displaying it on his open palm for Chris to see.

Chris reached for it with curious fingers, tracing the grain of the handle. "Why did he use this one?"

"Pops was old school." As he explained, Buck grabbed a clean folded towel for Chris to use as a cushion, and then helped him up onto the counter.

"What's that?' Chris asked, pointing to the rest of the equipment on display.

"You take these," Buck said, grabbing the bowl first, then the scuttle. "Add a little water," he said, wetting the bristles. He placed the bristles against the soap and started up the slow, smooth circles. After a few days of practice, he had a lather going in no time. "And it makes shaving cream." He dabbed foam on the end of Christopher's nose and grinned.

"Daddy has a spray can for that," Chris said, giggling. He wiped at his nose and tracked Buck's hand when it moved away.

"Some people use that," Buck nodded, holding out the cup for Chris to inspect.

"But not you?" Chris leaned forward for a closer look.

Buck shrugged, absently continuing to go through the motions as he thought. "It's how I was taught," he explained, setting both the bowl and brush down at the edge of the sink. "He's gone now, but I was really close with my grandpa. He was kind of my best friend growing up. Doing it like this helps remind me of him."

"Gone like mommy?" Heat prickled between Buck's shoulder blades. He hesitated with how to answer. Pops went quietly in the middle of the night, not in a horrific accident like Shannon, but he figured that wasn't really what Chris was asking.

"Yeah." He reached over and set his hand on Christopher's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

Chris nodded sagely and reached up to pat the side of Buck's face. "It doesn't work very well," he said, wiping the soap on the back of his hand across the stubble on Buck's cheek. His slowly emerging grin did nothing to ease the sting of his teasing, and Buck tried his hardest to look offended.

"I haven't shaved today, thank you very much," he grumbled, swatting gently at Christopher's hand. He picked up a washcloth and cleared off what little bit of cream had made its way onto his face.

"Will you show me?" Chris asked, perking up.

Buck slowed his movements and lowered the wash cloth. Time wasn't a factor; he had Chris for a few more hours at least. Chris wasn't old enough to shave himself, but Buck had been his age the first time Pops showed him how.

As if sensing his reluctance, Chris looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Fine," Buck huffed. "But you know that look doesn't work on me."

Chris grinned at him; they both knew that look worked every time.

Buck picked up his tools and slipped right back into his routine, taking the extra time to explain what he was doing to Christopher as he did it and answering his endless questions. The queries died off as soon as Buck picked up the razor and actually started shaving. Christopher's full attention was on him now, enraptured by the slow process.

He finished by wiping away the last of the shaving cream he'd missed, and turned to Chris with a smile.

"See? Probably even more boring than watching your dad do it."

"It's fine." Chris reached out to touch his face, probing across now smooth skin. He gave Buck a little pat and smiled.

"Yeah, whatever," Buck said, helping him down from his seat. "Why don't you go color while I clean up, and when I'm done we can go to the park?"

"Okay!" Chris said, his excitement turning his voice into a squeak. He made it to the table on his own and climbed into the same chair where he'd eaten lunch.

Buck retrieved his coloring book and crayons from his bag. On his way back to the bathroom, his phone started ringing, and he dug it out of his pocket. His heart sank like a stone to the pit of his stomach when he read the  _ Mercy General  _ ID. He swiped across the phone to answer it and raised it to his ear with a rising sense of dread.

∞

Eddie was vertical when they arrived, to Buck's immense relief. He looked up as soon as they slipped past the curtain of his consultation room. Chris moved immediately to his side and leaned into him.

"Hey buddy," Eddie said, wrapping his right arm around Christopher's shoulders in a hug. His left was strapped to his body in a sling, with a cold pack fixed to his shoulder. Soot still darkened his face, but it wasn't enough to hide how tired he looked, or the glazed-over look in his eyes from whatever pain medication they'd given him on the ride over. His shirt lay in tatters on the bed behind him, but he at least still had his pants and boots on.

"What happened?" The words tumbled out of Buck's mouth before he could stop them. The stone in his belly finally started to ease some at the sight of Eddie sitting up and talking. What little information he'd been given hadn't been enough to ease his fears on the drive over, but now that he was here, he had questions.

"The floor gave out on us." Eddie laid his head on top of Christopher's and closed his eyes. His words came slowly as though he had to work to put them in order. There were no tubes delivering medication or hydration, just a heart monitor clipped to one finger.

The curtain rattled behind Buck and cut off any further line of questioning. He turned to face the woman who entered.

"He's lucky it was only a partial subluxation," she said without looking up, intently scribbling something on her clipboard. She tucked it under her arm once finished and raised an eyebrow at Buck. "Hello. I take it you're the emergency contact, Evan Buckley?"

"Buck," he said, offering his hand to her. She gave a tiny shake of her head and he let it drop back to his side. He glanced at her badge. "Why is he lucky, Doctor Stevens?"

"Dislocation often involves tearing in the surrounding tissue. Mr. Diaz will need to be in that sling for a bit, but he should make a full recovery and be back to work sooner than you think."

Buck winced despite the optimistic tone of her words. "And how long is that, exactly? He's my partner." Christopher peeled away from Eddie's embrace to inspect the various beeping equipment around the room.

"Well, it depends on how well you can keep him from doing anything reckless with that shoulder." Doctor Stevens gave Eddie a calculating look; he returned it with a scowl directed at both of them, as though Buck had a part in telling him to take it easy.

"Does that mean we won't be able to get a tree?" Chris chimed in, turning away from the rhythmic spikes on Eddie's heart monitor.

"We'll figure something out, buddy," Eddie said, rubbing at the back of his neck with a pained expression.

"I'll do what I can," Buck said to the doctor, lowering his voice. "Is he okay to leave?"

"Yes, he is," Stevens said, glancing between them. "He'll need help over the next few days. I mean it; if he does anything too strenuous, he'll put himself out for far longer than he needs to be."

"I understand," Buck nodded. Stevens took her leave, and Buck stepped closer to the father and son. "Ready to go?"

"Please," Eddie groaned, sliding off the bed unsteadily. Buck reached for him and stopped short, unsure where it was safe to grab. Eddie latched onto his forearm. "I need a new shirt," he muttered, sparing a glance for the pile of rags left behind by whatever overzealous nurse who tended to his shoulder.

"You can wear my sweatshirt out. Let's just get you home, I'm sure Bobby's got extras laying around." Buck didn't bother reminding Eddie that he had some time before he'd need the replacement. He shrugged out of his hoodie and had to help Eddie into it, tugging the opening down over his head and guiding his good arm into the sleeve.

∞

"Thanks again for helping out with this," Eddie said, his voice lowered as they moved down the long corridor of pre-cut trees. Chris was several trees ahead of them, dismissing contenders left and right in search of the perfect one.

"Of course," Buck replied. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he looked in time to see Eddie scratching at the stubble on his face. It was about the longest it had been since his arrival in Los Angeles, and Buck was beginning to see why. Eddie rubbed at it, his sharp movements betraying the annoyance. He felt for Eddie's discomfort, but the beard gave him a particularly rugged look that suited him, even if the itch was driving him mad. Buck felt a phantom itch in his own face the longer Eddie scratched, despite having shaved that morning. "Have you tried exfoliating?" he asked, taking pity on him.

Eddie cut a sideways glance at him, his expression darkening for a brief second. He sighed and forced his hand away from his face. "It's just such a pain to shave with one hand. You need two just to get the shaving cream out of the can." His scowl deepened as he tugged at the strap of his sling.

"So don't shave," Buck said, halfway between a suggestion and a question. Their progress through the maze of trees came to a halt when they reached Christopher standing beside his chosen prize.

Eddie considered it briefly then shook his head. "It's just… a habit. We weren't allowed beards in the army. Mustaches were within regulation, but-"

"Please never grow a mustache," Buck cut in, and Eddie nodded in agreement.

"This one," Chris cut in, reaching over to tug on Eddie's empty sleeve.

"This one?" Buck turned his attention to the tree and sized it up. It was shorter than their last, but wider in the trunk, as though it had spent all its energy growing outward rather than upward. "Are you sure we can get it in the truck?"

"Definitely," Chris assured him, his grin wide and infectious.

Eddie glanced up from fussing with his sling, and after taking a single look at the tree, started digging his wallet out of his pocket.

With the tree bought and paid for, the three of them made their way back to the parking lot. Buck wrestled it into the bed and strapped it down while Eddie buckled Chris into the backseat.

He soon climbed in behind the wheel, just in time to hear Eddie curse from the passenger seat. In short, jerky movements, he yanked his sweatshirt off, and followed it with a grunt of pain that drew Buck's full attention.

Eddie sat still, half doubled over with his arm cradled against him. He turned his head toward Buck, his face pinched and eyes closed.

"Eddie?" Buck frowned and reached over, but stopped himself before touching Eddie's shoulder.

"Yeah," Eddie said through gritted teeth. He sat up a little straighter and began running his fingers along the straps of his sling again. "Meds are wearing off. This thing is so… uncomfortable," he grumbled, glancing at Chris in the backseat.

Buck nodded in sympathy and leaned closer, unable to see in the dim light. He carefully touched one of the straps and ran his fingers along it. Eddie shivered and turned in his seat to put more of his back toward Buck.

"Ah," Buck said, finding the ridge that must have been digging into him all night. "Strap's twisted." He made quick work to undo the mess caught in the glide buckle. Eddie sat back when he was done and let out a sigh.

"What the hell would I do without you?" he mused, turning a half smile on Buck that made the butterflies in his stomach take flight.

"Suffer," Buck said, throwing him a grin as he got the truck started. The look on Eddie's face told him he was lucky it was the left arm that dislocated.

He got the truck moving and pointed them toward the Diaz house. Despite his many hours of experience driving the fire truck, he drove Eddie's as carefully as possible through the cramped L.A. streets. This one had slightly more precious cargo, after all.

Eddie was the first out, and he turned immediately toward the back seat to tend to Chris. Buck got to work dragging the tree past the tailgate and followed the pair inside, doing his best not to knock anything off the wall. He stalled in the entryway when he realized he had no clue where to go.

"Where am I putting this?" he asked, trying to avoid a mouthful of pine needles.

"Hold on, I'll grab the tree stand," Eddie said from somewhere in front of him. His footsteps carried him further into the house. Buck set the tree down and peered around it to find Christopher seated on the couch, already primed with a box of string lights and ornaments. The house was decked out in festive decor and all that was left was the tree. There were several homemade projects with Christopher's name on them, including a pine cone craftily turned into an owl with a santa hat. There were popsicle stick snowflakes decorating one wall, and they'd used glass paints to depict a winter wonderland on the window facing the street.

Eddie returned a few minutes later with a metal contraption. He waved it at Buck and crossed over to the empty corner. The thing looked ancient and deadly, with long screws all pointed toward the center and a basin to keep the tree watered for the duration. Eddie dropped it to the floor and followed it down, stretching out on his good side next to it.

"I'll guide the stump into this ring here," he said, loosening the screws until they almost fell out. Buck picked up the tree again and followed, mindful of the jumble of limbs.

"Are you sure it'll fit?" Buck asked, nearly losing his grip when Eddie grabbed the stump and directed it.

"Buck, you're going to decorate it with us, right?"

The question drew Buck's attention. He adjusted his grip and looked over at Christopher's hopeful expression, and the decorations piled high on the couch beside him. Eddie muttered quietly under the tree, leaving Buck to fend for himself.

"Uh," he stalled, silently praying Eddie would chime in one way or the other. After a few seconds he looked back at Chris, but just as he opened his mouth the tree sunk several inches without warning.

Eddie gave a quiet and heartfelt, " _ Fuck _ ," as he jerked on the floor, delivering a sharp kick to Buck's shin. He curled his knees toward his chest with a muffled grunt of pain.

"Oh, shit," Buck said, keeping one hand on the tree for stability. He doubled over to peer under the low branches and winced at the sight of Eddie's good hand wedged beneath the base of the tree and the metal bottom of the stand. The bark above his hand had gouges in it. "Are you okay?" he asked, when what he meant was, "Are you  _ sure _ it will fit?"

"Just pick the damn tree up," Eddie said, his voice clipped.

Buck straightened and set his foot on the stand. It took a bit of muscle, but he managed to make enough space for Eddie to pull his hand back.

Eddie sat up once freed and cradled his hand to his chest. Buck leaned the tree in the corner and turned back to him, kneeling down to get a closer look. His basic first aid training kicked in when he saw the angry purpling on along the middle and fourth fingers, his knuckles already beginning to swell. Buck grabbed his wrist and Eddie hung his head.

"Chris, grab your coat," he said, wincing under Buck's careful attention. "We're going back to the hospital."

∞

On the day of Bobby and Athena's annual holiday party, Buck made sure he was ready with hours to spare. He headed first for Eddie's house with a ball of apprehension twisting his stomach into knots.

There was no real reason to be nervous, he told himself.

He let himself in when he arrived. Eddie's truck sitting in the driveway told him they were home, but he used his key anyway.

"Buck! You're early!" Christopher cried out the second Buck stepped through the door. He clambered off the couch and barreled forward to wrap his arms around Buck's waist.

"Hey buddy. I figured your dad could use help with something," Buck greeted, patting the top of Christopher's head when they parted. He hid what he'd brought behind his back to prevent any further questions.

"He's still getting ready," Chris informed him, and went back to the couch and his cartoons. He was already dressed in the holiday sweater he'd picked out for the occasion.

Buck moved deeper into the house and knocked on Eddie's partially open door to announce himself. He pushed it open to see Eddie sitting on his bed, already dressed in jeans and a red button down, struggling to hook the two sides together. The taped fingers on his right hand and barely being able to use his left were making it a Herculean task. At the knock on the door, he looked up.

"This is why I don't get hurt," he said in lieu of greeting, waving at his partially exposed chest. After breaking his fingers a week ago, his beard had only filled in further, but he no longer scratched at it.

"You could ask for help," Buck said, moving into the room. He revealed the small leather case in his hands, waving it slightly to get his attention. "I figured I'd offer it since you're not so good at the asking."

"You're one to talk," Eddie snorted, his eyes tracking Buck's movements through the air. "What's that?"

"Help," Buck deadpanned. "C'mon. Bathroom."

Eddie scowled at him and rose from the bed to follow.

In the bathroom, Buck unzipped the leather case. He tipped it toward Eddie to show him it was safe, then set it down on the counter. Without looking, he grabbed a clean towel off the rack and tossed it at Eddie.

"What?" Eddie frowned between the towel and the kit.

"I thought you might like to clean up for today." Buck explained, taking out the straight razor and unfolding it.

"You want to shave me," Eddie said slowly, rubbing absently at his stubbled jaw as he looked at it.

"I'm offering," Buck corrected, his gaze drawn to Eddie's hand. He would have liked to see what it looked like grown into a full beard, but all his friend had done for the last two weeks was complain about how much it itched.

"Okay…" Eddie shook his head and waved his hand at his own razor resting by the sink. "But I have my own stuff, you didn't have to bring this."

Buck smiled and brandished the one in his hand. "The right razor is important," he said, echoing his grandfather's words from so long ago. He used his own to point at the one on the counter. "Using that is like driving a pickup truck from the sixties, but using this one is like driving a Ferrari," he said, putting some weight behind the latter.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. You know, I could shave if it weren't for these fingers," he insisted.

"I know," Buck assured him. "I also know you're miserable with that thing on your face. What do you say?"

Eddie wrinkled his nose and sighed. "Yeah I am. Okay, fine."

Buck grinned triumphantly and set the razor down. He took the towel from Eddie and arranged it so it covered his front, protecting his clean shirt from any messes. Without any further comment he took out the shave cup and got to work, mindful of Eddie's curious gaze. Shaving himself was one thing, and shaving in front of Chris was another; doing this for Eddie felt right, even if a little strange. He gave himself over to muscle memory and quietly mourned the beard he was about to remove.

When the lather was ready, he turned toward Eddie and took a step closer.

"You've done this before?"

"Only on myself," Buck confessed, searching Eddie's dark eyes.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Comforting," he said wryly. He leaned against the counter and tilted his head back, giving Buck as much room as he could.

"Shut up. Hold still," Buck said. He raised his hand to begin covering Eddie's face and paused to get one last look at him. The dark stubble added definition to his already sharp jawline, and lended him a scruffy look that subtracted a few years. It framed his mouth in a way that made his lips look softer, pinker somehow. The butterflies that Buck usually ignored and suppressed took flight.

Eddie shifted under his attention and a crease appeared in his brow. "What?"

"Nothing," Buck said, recovering quickly. He started covering Eddie's face in the cream and studiously avoided meeting his gaze. "My parents weren't really around all that much when I was a kid, so I spent a lot of time with my mom's dad. He's the one who taught me."

"You miss him?" Eddie said stiffly, careful not to get any soap in his mouth.

"Yeah," Buck nodded, making one last swipe across Eddie's jaw. He swapped out the scuttle for the razor, tucking the handle into his palm and holding the blade at the base. Buck devoted his concentration to the task at hand, and the room went quiet save for the rasp of the blade against his face. He turned Eddie's face toward the light and took care with the curve of his cheek, the angle of his jaw; he was always careful on himself, but with Eddie he was determined not to leave even a scratch.

To his credit, Eddie obeyed every direction, angling his chin at the slightest bit of pressure from Buck's fingertips.

When all that was left were tiny spots of white lather, Buck picked up the towel and cleared the last of it away. Eddie's face emerged, clean-shaven for the first time in weeks.

He latched clumsily onto Buck's wrist when he went to pull away, only able to use his thumb and index finger. "Thank you," he said in a voice that barely filled the air between them.

"It's nothing." Buck brushed it off and moved to pull free, but Eddie kept hold of him.

"It's not, Buck. Everything you do for us - for me - it's not nothing." He let go and his hand fell to his side. Buck stood still for several seconds, turning Eddie's words over in his mind.

"You're welcome," he finally said, pushing away the memory of Eddie's warm fingers wrapped around his wrist.

∞

Athena Grant threw the best parties, and everyone at the 118 knew it. There was always excellent food, tasteful drinks, and music that got everyone dancing sooner or later.

The party they walked into was already well under way when they arrived. A huge tree stood in the corner casting soft, dazzling light about the living room. Hen and Karen were seated in one of the large arm chairs, with more of the crew scattered throughout the house.

The hostess herself appeared in front of them, her wide smile immediately putting any lasting nerves Buck had to rest.

Athena leaned in to kiss him on the cheek - he had to bend toward her to make it possible - and simultaneously took the plate of cookies from his hand.

"Welcome, boys," she said, ruffling Christopher's hair as she turned partially away. "Make yourselves at home; there's drinks in the fridge and plenty of snacks. Eddie, you're looking good."

Buck spotted Bobby through the wall of windows that faced the back yard, a pair of tongs in hand. He hastily excused himself and made a beeline for the back door, eager to immerse himself in the festivities.

Bobby stopped mid-sentence as soon as Buck emerged, crossing the short distance to meet him with open arms. "Hey, kid. Glad you could make it."

Buck stepped into the circle of his arms and returned the embrace. "Merry Christmas, Pops. You've outdone yourselves, as always." He turned to shake Michael's hand, smiling so hard it hurt.

"It was all Athena," Bobby assured him. He adjusted one of the knobs on the grill and lifted the lid to check on its contents, still talking to Buck as he worked. "How's he doing?"

"He'll be alright, once he figures out how to lean on other people."

Bobby laughed quietly and shook his head. "Sounds like someone else I know," he said, looking up at Michael with a smirk. Buck rolled his eyes, prepared to suffer further teasing, but it never came. Instead the conversation drifted back to a discussion about Bobby's new grill. Thoroughly uninterested, Buck made a quiet exit and drifted away in search of other people to mingle with.

He spotted Maddie and Chim nestled up together by the fire pit and headed toward them. As soon as he got close, Maddie dug her elbow into Chimney's side, and suddenly he was on his feet.

"I'm going to go get, uh… some dessert," he offered lamely, flashing a grin before disappearing.

Buck watched him go and turned his narrowed gaze on Maddie.

"So," she said, the orange glow of the fire dancing in her eyes. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hand. Buck braced himself for one of their heart-to-hearts and got comfortable on the bench next to her. "A little birdie told me what you did for Eddie today."

"We're friends," Buck said, his defenses immediately raised. "I didn't want him to be uncomfortable here."

"Evan, friends don't do the kinds of things you two do for each other." She said it gently, but the words slipped past his armor and dug into the core of him. Heat burned in his cheeks as he averted his gaze. "Is there another explanation for why you used the razor Pops gave you?"

Buck shifted uncomfortably and looked over his shoulder, as if Eddie might appear at any second and do the math for himself.

Sighing softly, Maddie slid closer to him and wrapped herself around one of his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe the sting of her words.

"I love that big heart of yours, I just wish you could see what I see."

"And what is that?" Buck prompted, resting his temple against the top of her head.

"Maybe if you opened your eyes, you wouldn't have to ask." She squeezed his arm and gave it a reassuring pat.

Chimney's footsteps announced his return, so she stood and intercepted him, steering them back the way he came and leaving Buck alone by the fire. He watched them retreat into the house and shifted his attention ast them to the living room.

Karen was still seated in one of the arm chairs, only now she was flanked by Eddie and Hen. The three of them erupted into laughter that he could almost hear through the wall of glass. He was drawn, as always, to the little wrinkles that creased the corners of his eyes, to the dimples that appeared. He put his hand over the tight feeling in his chest.

Then Eddie turned his head and caught Buck watching them. His grin gradually faded into a softer smile, and he didn't look away.

He was afraid to admit it, but Maddie may have had a point.

∞

Like always, the night drew to a close much sooner than Buck hoped. He excused himself from the few who remained and set off in search of Eddie so they could both say their goodbyes, collecting empty plates and cups along the way.

He left them in the kitchen and continued on, but he didn't have to go very far. Eddie was seated on the couch in the living room with Christopher stretched out next to him, dead asleep. The only sound other than the gentle music coming from the radio was his soft snores. Eddie's hand moved in slow circles on his back, his eyes turned toward the tree. There was a vacant look in them that said he was a thousand miles away.

Buck approached and crouched down in front of them to look at Chris. His mouth and chin were stained green, drool slowly leaking onto Eddie's thigh and turning the denim a darker shade of blue.

"Sugar crash?"

"Yeah, he must've eaten four of those cupcakes," Eddie said fondly. Then, as though he had to justify himself to Buck, he added, "I figured the occasion called for it."

"How long have you been trapped here?" Buck asked, looking up from Chris. Eddie watched him impassively, but the stiffness leaked out of him as Buck watched.

"Half an hour, give or take," Eddie said, raising his good shoulder in a shrug.

Buck rapped his knuckles against Eddie's knee and shook his head. "Why didn't you text me or something?"

"Ow!" Eddie laughed in surprise, rubbing at the spot with a wounded look. It quickly dissolved and he shook his head. "Actually, I was enjoying the peace and quiet. Shame you had to ruin it."

Buck put his hand to his chest in mock outrage, which only served to make Eddie laugh again. He wanted to bottle the sound - he hadn't heard it much since he'd gotten the call from the hospital nearly two weeks prior, and missed it far more than he realized.

He pushed that thought aside. "I think they're calling it a night. You ready to go?"

Eddie visibly sagged with relief. "Yes. Have been for a while. I skipped the pain meds today."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Buck demanded, frowning.

Eddie waved him off. "I know how much you love these things. Besides, I was fine in here."

"Sure," Buck said, unconvinced. On an impulse, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Christopher's forehead. He sat back on his heels and looked up in time to catch the shadow that flickered across Eddie's face. A cold feeling settled in his chest, heavy with dread. "What?"

Eddie's eyes widened when he realized he'd been caught, but he recovered quickly. He ducked his chin and grinned. "Just wondering if you had one of those for me, too."

Buck laughed, but when Eddie didn't join in, he stopped. "Wait, really?" He stood and leaned his weight on the back of the couch, and bent his head to kiss Eddie's forehead just like he'd done with Chris.

Eddie tipped his head back at the last second, causing Buck's lips to land on his nose instead.

Buck jerked his head back in surprise and stared, his brain struggling to catch up.

"Shit," Eddie muttered, his face crumpling in on itself.

"You weren't supposed to move," Buck said, prepared to brush it off. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. He moved to stand, but Eddie hooked a finger into the front of his sweater and stopped his escape in its tracks.

"I know," he said, swallowing. "Listen," he said, while his gaze flickered from Buck's eyes to his mouth and back.

"Eddie," Buck breathed. He was frozen in place and afraid to move, afraid to break whatever spell they were under. Maybe it was the lights, or the holiday itself. He couldn't blame it on alcohol because he hadn't had a drink in hours, and he was fairly sure Eddie hadn't either.

Eddie gently cleared his throat. "I think you should try that again," he said, tugging on Buck's collar. There wasn't a single part of him that didn't want to indulge the request, and he sunk back down, closer, until they were nearly sharing breath.

"Are you sure?" Buck whispered, fear and anticipation mixing deliciously under his skin.

"Yes," Eddie hissed, and the pull became more insistent. "Just kiss me."

Buck leaned in without another thought, cupping the back of Eddie's neck. Eddie surged up to meet him, keeping a firm grip on Buck's sweater like he might chicken out after all.

The first brush of their lips sent electricity crawling down his spine, and he knew there was no going back, not with every piece of him singing. Eddie tilted his head, his nose pressing into Buck's cheek as he deepened the kiss.

Buck pulled back with a gasp and opened his eyes, wondering when he'd closed them to begin with. He stared like he was seeing Eddie for the first time, and Eddie stared back, sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Thought so," he muttered, smoothing down Buck's collar where it had wrinkled under his grip.

"I knew Santa would do it again," Chris said, reminding both of them where they were. He grinned up at them and pressed his fists to his mouth.

"What's that, son?" Eddie asked, tensing briefly under Buck's hand, which still rested on the back of his neck.

Chris wriggled around on the couch until he was able to sit up and face them. "I asked Santa if he would help you," he explained, turning his thousand watt smile on Buck. "But he's early."

Buck laughed, looking from Chris to Eddie. "I guess I owe Santa my thanks," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Eddie said, his hand still on Buck's chest. "Me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](https://yawnralphio.tumblr.com/)


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